Dead Me  Living Me
by CSIGeekFan
Summary: This is a rather dark fic. Thanks to those who have reviewed. Summary:  She returns to the desert after leaving him.
1. Days 1 thru 9

A/N – This is rather dark. I intended it to be. I hope you like it, and would like some reviews to know if I should continue this. I can say right now that it's been difficult to write – kind of freaked myself out a few times as the images came into my head.

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters. Not happy with the show right now anyway, so I wouldn't want to own the characters or anything to do with them.

A/N 2 – The quotes used in here (the Gettysburg Address and Preamble to the Constitution) may not be _exactly_ right. I had to memorize them as a kid, and they ended up part of the story. If they're not totally right, I apologize, but they should be rather close.

A/N 3 – Just saw the show. Actually have a little hope. I'm taking the optimistic view, especially since my story Bitter Sorrow actually fits the letter she wrote pretty well.

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Dead Me, Living Me

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He was angry, worried, guilty – every emotion possible. She'd been smiling when she came into work. He'd seen the pain in her eyes, but she'd been smiling. Now she was gone with nothing but a damn note. Her choice. He was left with only his work and misery. He was too stunned to find her, because he must not have been enough. Little did he know…

She pulled out her journal and checked off her supplies list. She'd left him, not knowing how to explain. She had no home now, because she'd left him, and he _was_ home.

She'd stopped only at a survival shop. She bought only what she needed, and wore only the clothes she left in, save a heavy military-issue coat and hiking backpack. Still, she didn't know why she was here, but she had already unloaded her supplies, paid the cab driver, and was left alone – in the desert.

"I'm here," she whispered into the dark.

She laid on the cold ground and wept until exhaustion overtook her.

When she woke, aching, she'd set up her camp. She opened the case of water bottles and took one out, then opened up an MRE. She left the tarp folded neatly on the ground.

"Okay… we're in the desert. Why the hell did you bring only twenty four water bottles and 36 MRE's?" she asked herself.

The answer came quickly, overwhelming her. She pulled out her journal and began to write.

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_Journal Entry – Day One – Morning_

_I died here. It's where I belong. I may die here again. The dead me says it would be a relief. Because I'm already dead. He doesn't see the dead me. He sees the living me. He sees the part that aches for him – for me – for us. _

_There are two of me. The dead me is getting so much stronger. The living me was fading – too hurt to fight anymore. The dead me wants to stay here, cold, alone, and angry._

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She stood, eyes empty, looking out across the desert. A single water bottle in hand, she began to walk – off in the direction she'd walked before.

Dust and dirt shuffled around her feet before the panic began to overwhelm her, and she turned, running back as fast as possible, collapsing, gasping from breath under a creosote bush. Sobs racked her body, shuddering, making her skin grow cold and clammy. She'd only made it three hundred feet.

For hours she shook, lost and whimpering. When she finally came back to herself, the sky was dark. She lay awake, cold and alone in the desert.

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_Journal Entry – Day Two – Morning_

_I died here. I tried to step beyond the bounds yesterday. I'm too afraid to walk into the desert. The dead me says to sit still and be peaceful. If I do that, the rest of me can die, too._

_But I don't think I came here to die. I wish I knew why I was here, but I don't think it's so the dead me can be at peace._

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After she wrote her thoughts in her journal, she picked up her purse, pulled out her identification and buried it deep into the desert floor.

She was tired, cold, and aching.

"Okay, if we're going to do this, we need heat. Warmth. And we didn't bring enough water, so you better start thinking."

Looking around her make-shift camp, she saw desert floor, broken branches, tall creosote bushes like the one she slept under. Looking just thirty feet north, she peered at the cluster of Joshua trees. To the south lay the barren desert.

"We need to move to the trees and higher ground."

After moving her camp, she gathered wood. Pulling the lighter out of her purse, she lit some scrub, watching the spark turn to flame. She fed the flame to a blaze, and held her hands out.

"It's going into winter. We'll be cold. We need heat."

For hours and hours, she stockpiled brush and chunks of wood.

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_Journal Entry – Day Two – Night_

_The night is fading. I'm hungry. I forgot to eat. I've only eaten two MREs. I have 34 left. That may not be enough. I saw some wildflowers not far off… it looks like desert clover. Near it is some snakes head – a white flower, as well. I can eat those for now. The plants are fading. The night is growing too cold. I'll eat those first, and save the MREs._

_I was busy today. When I can be busy, I can't think. When I can't think, the living me is awake._

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When she woke in the morning, she decided to fix up camp, staking the tarp between two Joshua trees as a shaded tent.

"We'll be dry, and we'll have shade," she muttered.

Then, in a rage kicked in the side of the tent, screaming, "What the hell is the point!"

Stunned at herself, she dropped to her knees, her hands trembling, and pulled the tent straight again.

She stood, took a deep breath, and said, "The point is we're here. That has to be enough," then shouted, "Leave me the hell alone!"

Turning and staring south, she saw a shimmer of herself from that day, stumbling through the desert. A shiver ran up her spine.

"Okay. We're going to go there today," she said resolutely, squared her shoulders, removed her coat, and stepped in that direction.

She walked the path on which she had watched herself stumble. The farther into the desert, the more her chest hurt, her lungs ached, and her head spun.

"Two plus two is four. Four plus four is eight. Eight plus eight is sixteen," she whispered into the breeze, her entire body shaking from something other than cold.

When her body couldn't take it anymore, she lay down on the desert floor and stared up into the sky, letting the late-season heat sear through her.

When she looked back at her camp in the distance, she realized she'd made it nearly a mile.

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_Journal Entry – Day 3 – Afternoon_

_I walked out there today. I followed the same footsteps. I had to come back. Dead me doesn't like it when I leave this spot. So I crawled on hands and knees, but the living me wants to keep going. _

_The dead me picked up a bottle of water, unscrewed the cap, and drained it onto the ground – why not. I'm going to die out here anyway. Then I cried over it, because I don't have a lot of water with me, and I'm scared I'll die of thirst. I'm getting low on water, and I don't know what to do._

_I'm scared. And I'm starting to smell._

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The fire just outside of her makeshift tent was blazing, providing just enough heat and shelter to give some comfort. She closed her eyes.

It was the first night she dreamt of him.

The next morning was much like the last, but she smiled.

"We're going to have a good day," she said to herself, and ate. She still had a few wilted flowers, and pulled a bit of bark off the tree. She nibbled on those for an hour or so, looking south again, and wondering.

Once the coals of the fire were stoked and the blaze set, she looked south.

She retraced the path she'd taken yesterday.

"We'll get there," she promised herself. "We won't crawl back."

The promise didn't keep, as she crawled back on hands and knees, scared, shaking, and sobbing – her limbs a boneless mass.

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_Journal Entry – Day 4 – Afternoon_

_I'm so tired. I don't want to be tired anymore._

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She lay huddled in her tent, shivering, covered in her leather jacket and the thick Army coat.

When she finally ate an MRE, it was with little appetite. She simply had no hunger.

Her eyes became dull as she looked across the landscape. For hours, she just stared off into the distance… watching the horizon, and not even noticing the sunset.

She woke that night screaming with a nightmare.

Picking up her journal, she read by firelight, wanted to write something, and decided she simply had nothing to say.

The next morning, she prepared for her day again. It was becoming pretty typical to eat bark after waking.

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_Journal Entry – Day 5 – Morning_

_We will make it there and back._

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Staring south across the flat dusting planes, she pulled her shoulder back and marched, reciting the Gettysburg address as she walked.

"Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal…"

When she reached the point to turn around, she stared back at camp, the familiar trembling surging. The powerful heat of summer had faded to a lighter winter heat of blazing desert sun. Shaking her head, she began to march back, reciting the preamble to the constitution of the United States.

"We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, ensure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty…"

By the time she was done repeating this a dozen times, she realized she'd gotten nearly a quarter of the way back, and began to laugh.

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_Journal Entry – Day 5 – Noon_

_I made it back to camp. I was laughing. Apparently the preamble to the constitution is more powerful than I thought._

_I'm starting to get low on water. Typically, I would drink six bottles a day, but I've had to cut it back to three or four bottles a day. I need to find a source of water before I run out._

_I really smell._

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She spent the remainder of the day performing the camp chores, muttering to herself, "We did it, we did it, we did it!"

For the first time, she felt even slightly victorious, a smile gracing her lips.

She slept well that night, her body having already built grooves in which to fit into the tarp covered sand.

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_Journal Entry – Day 6 – Morning_

_If the guys in the lab could see me now, they'd laugh. I think perhaps the smell of myself and my clothes woke me from my comfortable sleep. _

_I miss their laughs and jokes._

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"We'll do it again," she announced after her morning meal, and the stoking of the fire.

"While we walk, we need to find something to eat," she muttered into the air. "We need more than bark and MREs."

She stopped along the way to her southern destination, just a mile south.

When she'd left him, she'd been wearing a shirt, with a matching sweater. She used the sweater now to gather up what might be considered edible. And with a scowl, she picked up a few bugs, as well. He had told her more than once they were a great source of protein.

Turning back on her well-worn path, there was no trembling. She gathered on the way back, as well, munching on a few live beetles, and gagging each time she put one in her mouth.

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_Journal Entry – Day 6 – Early Afternoon_

_It's Thanksgiving, I think. There is nothing to be thankful for. I ate live beetles._

_Live beetles are terrible, so I am going to try to fry one over the fire. I am getting used to the bark. It has provided the fiber I need. I've lost weight, though. He would chastise me and worry over this. He would ask me what was wrong – where my appetite went, then hold me while I told him about my crappy day. I never reciprocated. I never asked him about his crappy days._

_God, I don't deserve to be happy. I certainly don't deserve him._

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She dreamt of water running over her, down her throat, and choking her. She saw the ghost of her father standing over her, a knife in his side.

She woke up screaming – and it was raining.

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_Journal Entry – Day 7 – Morning_

_It's raining – I even dreamt it was raining, but in the horrific way I usually dream of water. I'm stuck here in my tent. I want to be in the open. Maybe I should go out there. I'll wear nothing, and let the elements take me wherever I should go. I'm so cold._

_I have too much time to think. I need to be busy._

_I only have four bottles of water left. I need more water. I know where I can get it._

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In a flash, excited by the idea, she ran outside the tent, pulled the stakes holding up her tent, and yanked it down. Digging as fast as she could, she made a pit into which she placed the tarp. Then she stripped to nothing but bare skin. The cold fled, and heat took its place.

Within minutes, a pool of water began to fill. Grabbing sand, she watched as the tarp filled. With sand in hand, she began to scrub at her body, pulling off days of filth – sweat and dirt. When she was done, she moved under the Joshua trees, and giggled at the sight of the gallons of water filling up in the tarp.

Laughing, she danced around the trunks of the trees.

"It worked, it worked, it woooorrrrrrkkkkedddddd," she sang.

Running out into the rain, she laid on her belly and slurped up some water, flipped onto her back, and simply opened her mouth.

For a moment, she was a child.

She grabbed the empty water bottles and began to fill them, feeling clean and giddy. She lined them up, and drank as much as she could.

As the adrenaline faded from her victory, the cold began to set in again, and she dressed in damp clothes, shivering – the only protection from the never-ending rain being where the branches of the two trees met, keeping her only partially dry.

The fire was out. She was cold and alone in the darkened day. All energy gone, she wept alone, terrified to move, and unwilling to make her journey south.

That night she dreamed of rabid coyotes, snarling and baiting her.

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_Journal Entry – Day 8 – Morning_

_I wonder if I am a monster. I come from monsters. I once told him I felt sorry for the monsters in movies. I think because I understand those monsters – as snarling and destructive as they may be. I have always been alone, like a monster. I wonder if I am a monster. He says I'm not, but I don't know if he understands that dead me feels like a monster._

_Dead me has a rage that wants to destroy._

_The rain stopped yesterday in the late afternoon. I have plenty of water for now. The sun is shining, so I am sitting out naked in the sun, even though the morning stillness is chilly. My clothes are laid out, drying. I can put them back on soon. I'm shivering as I write._

_Why can't I just let life be easy?_

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"Life is _never_ easy," she muttered as she looked south. Resolute, she glared south and made a decision.

"We can't stay here," she said, looking at the tarp laid out to dry, as she dressed.

"We can't stay in this place."

It only took her minutes to pack her belongings into the backpack. With one last look on the cloudless sky, she headed south… to her place.

A copse of trees and bushes provided a place to build. So for hours she built, eating leaves and bark, and then finally an MRE.

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_Journal Entry – Day 8 – Evening_

_My fire is going again. The pit I made is bigger, so the blaze is higher, holding more wood, with more coals, and hotter._

_I ate more bugs. I hate bugs._

_I can see off in the distance the tops of those two trees. Now I'm looking east. East toward the highway that is so far away. I'm angry I didn't make it far enough, that I found my way out, but didn't make it. I can feel this rage in me building – against myself._

_They found me, but I didn't have faith in them. I don't know how to have faith. The last time I had faith in anything, she stabbed him to death. My team has faith in me. I don't understand why they could have faith in anything I touch. If they knew what I came from, they'd probably be afraid. I know I am._

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Her fitful sleep on the hard cold ground was interrupted by the calls of wild dogs in the distance.

She stirred the nearly dead coals, pulled found some damp wood nearby, and brought the blaze up. It was still dark and chilly, so she warmed herself, rubbing her hands together.

Closing her eyes, she listened to the tones of the wild dogs. For just a moment, she thought she understood them – their calls from one west sounding regretful, the calls from the south sounding mournful.

"At least we don't hear them in the east," she said.

"Do me a favor, and don't go out," she said to the fire.

As she lay out on the ground, she thought of the calls as a melody, and fell back to sleep to music.

When she woke shortly later, she packed her belongings. She felt restless – like a shadow that stood behind her, snaking up her back and whispering to her to move.

She could see that day… how she stumbled. She knew the path she took. It became a snapshot in her mind. She knew the exact steps she had taken.

She took them now.

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_Journal Entry – Day 9 – Noon_

_I made it half a mile today, before I couldn't move farther. I know the sand. I know the bushes. The landscape changes with every stormy or windy day, but I could feel its caress, trying to drag me under. I knew my steps. I could feel my heart beat beneath my feet, and part of me wanted to dig a hole and bury myself until I choked to death on it all._

_The dead me is in a rage right now, because I wouldn't just lay down where I was. I wouldn't just stay put anymore, but I moved. So the dead me is angry. I don't know what to do with it. Am I the monster in the movies? Is that why I feel sorry for myself?_

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She lay on the ground. The days were getting colder. She was freezing and alone, shaking and sobbing, until sleep overtook her under the cold sun. She woke screaming in the evening.

"We have to eat," she muttered, standing on rubbery legs and opening the backpack.

She pulled out an MRE, ripped it open, and consumed the contents, along with half a bottle of water.

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_Journal Entry – Day 9 – Night_

_I found more bugs. Even in the cold, they come out at night when I light the fire. They must need the heat as much as I do. That must be what I am – a bug scurrying from one place to the next. I couldn't stay. I couldn't even tell him where I was going. I could only leave him. The dead me wanted me to leave him before I totally cracked, and broke apart._

_I miss him… my heart beats to the rhythm of the desert, and it's not in synch._

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She didn't dream that night, because she didn't sleep.


	2. Days 10 thru 13

A/N –In reality, I didn't want to continue this story, because it is disturbing to say the least. Please R&R.

MRE Meals Ready to Eat. They're freeze dried or sealed meals used by the US military.

Disclaimer: CBS owns the actors… I mean characters.

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The tenth day found her packing her belongings once more. She knew she wouldn't reach that peak she'd found so long ago. Not today.

"Why is it the part of me that feels so damn dead is so angry?" she muttered, staring off towards the hill in the distance… a few miles away.

Once again hiking across the desert, stopping to pick dig up roots and gather bugs, she walked on, watching the sun rise higher and the heat of the day pick up.

"God, I'm tired," she muttered.

She stopped a little under a mile into her trek, and set up camp on a small mound.

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_Journal Entry – Day Ten – Afternoon_

_I'm tired. I'm tired of the shadows that follow me everywhere. I'm tired of the part of me that wants nothing more than to just stop and lay down. I'm tired._

_I wonder what he's doing. I wonder if he misses me. I told him he was my one and only, and I wasn't exaggerating. He is my one and only. No one has ever accepted me in the way he has. No one has ever looked at me the way he has. _

_I'm still eating bugs. He'd be proud. Once you get over the squirminess of them, they don't taste too bad. Does this make me a bad vegetarian? I wonder. The boys would laugh at me right now, as I munch on a beetle. I try to chew up the shells, but sometimes have to spit them out, onto the sand._

_I took off my shoes. My feet are ice cold, so I'm holding them over my fire, warming my toes. I should have never thrown my good boots away. This morning there was frost on the ground. I forgot how cold the desert can really become in the winter. A scorpion came crawling out of a hole and scurried into my left shoe. I shook him out of there and watched him move closer to the fire. I never realized how beautiful their movement can be. I wonder if I can have a scorpion to go with his tarantula? I don't have to ask. He'll be thrilled that I like a bug._

_I asked an important question today. I am going to find the answer. If part of me is dead and the other part living, then how can the dead part feel so much? If that part's dead, shouldn't it feel nothing? I am going to have to think about this._

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She slept fitfully, but she slept some that night after collapsing from sheer exhaustion.

The next morning, she woke, ate an MRE and prepared herself for the day. Once she had packed her belongings, she aimed herself towards that hill in the distance.

Mid-morning she set off, her heavy backpack, full of water and supplies, had already dug grooves into her shoulders, leaving irritated bruises and a nasty rash.

The sun shone down as she struggled forward. In a flash, she saw herself again wandering and stumbling towards the hill. She could feel the footsteps she had already followed. Once again, she found herself walking to a familiar rhythm.

"We're another mile closer," she announced into the desert.

Dropping her pack on the ground, she turned a slow full circle.

Holding her hands out into the wind, she screamed, "TRY AND STOP ME!"

With a half laugh, she shook her head and opened her pack for another bottle of water. Counting up the bottles, she realized she had maybe four or five days worth left.

"I need rain," she muttered.

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_Journal Entry – Day 11 – Afternoon_

_If someone were to ask me why I was in the desert, I wouldn't be able to tell them. I'm still figuring it out myself. I had intended on burying the ghosts of my past… those constant shadows that keep me company in the dead of night, and remind me of where I come from._

_Today was a good day. I hiked a mile. My shoulders ache. My stomach hurts, but it might be because I'm hungry. One can only eat so many roots and beetles. So I broke a rule – I ate an extra MRE today. He would be happy I made sure to eat. That I remembered. I'll be eating more bark and bugs, I'm sure. He'll be happy enough to offer a chocolate covered grasshopper. I hope not._

_I asked myself yesterday how the dead part of me can feel anything. I have a question, then… is that part of me really dead?_

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She woke angry. Stomping around her camp, she kicked at the fire, only to have embers jump onto her hand, burning her.

"Goddamn it!" she screamed, then let out an unearthly howl.

"I'm so goddamn tired of this. I'm so tired of wanting to hurt someone. I'm so damn tired of wanting to cause someone pain," she screamed into the emptiness around her.

Grabbing her backpack, she threw everything into it and buried the fire.

Stomping into the distance, she screamed and screamed. For the two hours it took her to trace each footstep, carefully stomping her path into the ground, she screamed.

Picking up her pack, she flung it over her shoulders and marched, only to find herself turning around, walking back to camp and falling to her knees, sobbing.

"We're so tired. I'm so tired."

Laying down, back in the camp she'd left not long before, she curled and slept.

Waking in the dark, she cursed herself for burying her fire in the first place.

On a sigh, she rose, found the pit, and dug it out once again. The meager wood she had gathered earlier lay in the same place. It took awhile, but the flame from her lighter managed to finally catch some of the brush on fire, and she stoked the flames up.

She sat by the fire, gazing into it – entranced. Eventually, she ate an MRE.

As the sun began to set, she wrote.

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_Journal Entry – Day 12 – Night_

_I'm so angry. I never realized just how angry I am. I am angry for the ghosts who haunt me day in and day out. I'm angry that before the ghosts, I lived in a nightmare anyway. I'm angry I had to wait for so long to find my true home. I'm angry I left… that I had to leave. This anger is what has been making up the part of me that is dead._

_But the dead me isn't dead at all. It's simply cowering, seething, building. It's become so strong, I don't know how to control it anymore. It's like a volcano. It simply builds up steam until it bursts. Is that what is was like for my father? Did I get this from my mother? Is this how she felt before she sank the knife into him?_

_Could I do that to him? I pray to God I couldn't, but I'm so scared I'm capable. I'm terrified this rage could hurt him. Maybe it wouldn't be a knife in the chest, but worse. I come from someone capable of beating a wife and child until they are in the hospital. And I come from someone capable of stabbing someone to death. Am I the monster they are? He doesn't think so. I asked him if he believed there was a murder gene. He pretty much said no. What if he's wrong? The part of me – the living me – is telling me that he's right._

_I wish I knew who I was. The ghosts have always told me. They have always been there to remind me. Now I begin to wonder – if I bury them, what will I be?_

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The morning found her anxious and agitated. Every nerve stood on end. A small rustling in a bush made her jump, but it was only wind catching on leaves.

Pacing around the fire, she stared into the embers.

After eating her MRE, she packed her belongings and prepared to move on. She had nearly two miles to the hill she sought.

The sun brought an unusual amount of his that day – making her remove the coat and tie it to the backpack. As she traced her steps, she found herself weary.

"I have to eat," she muttered to herself, and began picking at the bark of a nearby tree to suck and chew on.

By early afternoon, she'd made it over a mile, and she lay down onto the desert floor.

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_Journal Entry – Day 13 – Afternoon_

_I'm tired. I'm dirty. I smell rancid. I can't even stand the smell of myself. I'm almost out of water again._

_I'm lonely._

_I couldn't see my future anymore. I saw my future before, always just a little bit blurry. When I left him, my future was so dark, I couldn't see through the shadows. He wouldn't understand. I couldn't explain it then. I can hardly explain it to myself right now._

_Sometimes the darkness dances for me, the shadows move, and I see an image in my mind. I can see myself walking across the desert. The sand has shifted, but I can see where every step has fallen, and I match it. Today, I looked forward and two of my ghosts were fighting. It was a familiar scene, when he hit her. I know that scene well – I watched it so often. In my mind, the shadows move. I can't say their names. I can't make them real._

_I think of how angry and hurt I was when he spent the night with _her_ and didn't even bother to call and let me know. He told me later what had happened, but it still hurt. That familiar ache was close to the surface. In some ways, I expect myself to always feel pain. Pain is familiar._

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She built her fire, an expert now at gathering just the right tinder, and settled down in front of it. She counted up the water bottles and found she was down to her reserves again. She'd been living on little water, so she knew she had enough for a few more days. She was working her way through MREs, but could and did eat from the earth itself.

"We and I are the same," she explained to the stars, as she stared into the sky. "I am me, and we are me. If I want to bury them, I need to recognize myself."

Even with the tarp under her, the ground was cold, the frost set in, and she slept shivering in the moonless night.


	3. Days 14 thru 16

A/N – Here are a few more days. Please Read and Review.

Disclaimer: I haven't been sued yet.

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She woke exhausted and listless.

Every bone seemed to ache from the cold. She remembered camping in the wilderness when she was in college – a weekend here or a weekend there with her roommate. She remembered the cold, but it never felt like this.

Her ribs were beginning to show a little bit. She'd always been thin, but not like this.

Sighing, she contemplated whether or not it was worth it to start the fire.

"If I leave now I think I can make it to my mountain," she said to herself.

Peering off, not quite two miles away, she could see the peak of the hill.

"Let's get going. I'm going to try and make it today."

Pulling her meager belongings together, she began to hike forward.

By mid-day, her muscles had warmed, and she was halfway there.

Smiling to herself, she sat on a small mount of desert sand, pulled open her journal and began to write.

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_Journal Entry – Day 14 – Noon_

_Have you ever wondered what it would be like to not have to think? I'm beginning to wonder if there's a way to just switch off my brain. I know these images I'm seeing in the desert are no more than my active imagination. _

_I saw him and her dancing in front of me today. They were smiling. It was strange, because I had forgotten how they danced. It was before he lost his job and drank and before she shrank into herself, leaving me alone. I remember how they danced when I was so very young. Sometimes they danced with me, too._

_There are some very strange roots out in the desert. The ground is frozen in the morning, and in the evening, once the sun sets. I can't dig for them then. I dug up this white root that tastes absolutely terrible. As hungry as I am, I couldn't eat it. I had no problem munching on a strange-looking bug I found clung to a bush, though._

_It was probably some rare species that I devoured, never to be seen again. He'll be mortified._

_I need to get moving again. I'm so close, I can taste it._

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Weary, in the afternoon sun, she surged forward, carrying her backpack, her legs weak.

"One more mile," she repeated over and over for minutes on end.

As she walked, she stumbled over her previous footsteps.

"I think I tripped over that bush," she mumbled, nodding towards the plant in question.

Looking up, she realized she had less than half a mile to go.

Grinning, feeling victorious, she lunged on, picking up speed, until she reached the bottom of the gully leading up and up.

Laughing, she climbed, and then her heart stopped.

Looking out across the desert, like she had that summer, that feeling of aching dread overtook her and she fell to her knees. Shaking uncontrollably, she laid her head to the ground and wept.

As the sun set, she laid herself out on the exposed peak, closed her eyes, and wished for sleep she knew would not come.

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_Journal Entry – Day 15 – Morning_

_I set up camp today. There is a peak that juts out. I set up my fire there. There is a copse of trees on the other side of a gully. I've staked out my tent again, this time leaving enough tarp to lay out across the ground. Under it, I lay some brush to stop the cold ground from seeping through._

_I have been craving marshmallows. The bugs are hard to come by now, so I'm eating more of my pre-packaged MREs. I've been eating a lot of bark. I think I ate dirt yesterday, too._

_I'm staying here for awhile. I have to stay here for awhile. This peak drew me last time, and it draws me now. I know that if I walk just four miles east, I'll find the road. I can't go home yet._

_I feel them around me here. I lit a fire first thing this morning. In the shadows of the flames, I see every ghost that surrounds me. They're here. I don't know how they know, but they always know when I'm weak. _

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"They're _all_ here," she whispered, watching memory leap to reality in the blaze in front of her. She closed her journal, closed her eyes, and got ready for the day.

"Okay, what do I need to do?" she asked herself, then laughed.

"Good God, I'm talking to myself!"

She pulled the contents from her backpack and began to count up her items: four bottles of water and seventeen MREs.

"Come on, sky. I need you to open up on me," she said, peering into the cloudless sky, the sun rising into the mid-morning sky.

Standing, she went about her preparations, gathering wood, hunting down anything edible, and pulling pieces of bark from trees. As the day wore on, she stopped more and more to stare into the fire.

"I see you," she whispered into the blaze.

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_Journal Entry – Day 15 – Afternoon_

_I watched them dance again, and felt giddy for just a moment. Then I saw her flinch from him and felt angry. A flame leapt and in it I saw two girls pointing and whispering about me. I saw myself winning the science fair – I was alone. Then I saw my date as he tore and ripped at my clothes._

_I just wish I knew what they wanted from me. I wish I knew what they craved._

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She slept that night, with all those ghosts whispering in her ear.

In the morning, she got ready for the day. By early afternoon, she was fuming. The sun was hot, even though the ground was cold.

"I can't take it!" she yelled. "I reek. I'm filthy."

"I may regret this," she muttered and she pulled down her tent. Making a dip in the sand, she laid out the tarp and pooled a full bottle of water into it.

Stripping naked, she first washed her socks and underwear – she'd removed the bra days and days before. After that, she washed out her shirt. The remaining water, nearly the consistency of mud was thrown away, and the clothes laid out to dry.

As she layed out naked under the sun, she absorbed the rays, and felt almost clean.

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_Journal Entry – Day 16 – Night_

_I ate a snake today. I'm now damned as a vegetarian. It came slithering right across me. I'm terrified of snakes, especially rattlers. It tastes like chicken, which is a far cry from the beetles and other creatures I've eaten lately. It's certainly better than roots and bark, although I ate those as well._

_I added a huge piece of wood from a downed Joshua tree earlier, and sat mesmerized and flames licked up into the sky. One flame was a foster father who hit me because I took apart his calculator. _

_As the scene played out in front of me, I looked at him again. I couldn't see what I was so afraid of back then. Actually, he seemed pretty scrawny. _

_I closed my eyes, remembered his hand hitting my face, feeling it hitting my face. This time, I didn't flinch. This time, I looked him in the eye and didn't look away, feeling ashamed. When the flame showed him hitting me again, I felt… nothing. He dimmed into nothing._

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She sat through the night in front of the fire, watching her insecurities flash through the flame.


	4. Days 17 and 18

A/N – Thanks to everyone who has continued to read this thing. Please take a moment and review.

Disclaimer: Make me write one. Dare you.

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On the seventeenth day, she got her wish for water. Sort of. It came in the form of a freak snow storm.

She'd woken in the pre-dawn hours, shaking uncontrollably, her fire burning low. She felt the first tendrils of sub-freezing cold snake across her skin in the form of flakes. They weren't soft and fluffy, like in storybooks, but bitter.

From what she could see of the sky, the snow might fall for quite awhile.

"Since when the hell do we get snow in early December?" she yelled at the sky.

Realizing the gully could become a heavy washout, she decided to move her fire from the peak, and over by her tent.

With a sigh, she finished stoking the blaze high.

"Well, no bugs to eat today," she said, almost cheerful.

It took her nearly two hours to pull together enough wood, bark, and roots to last a couple days.

She pulled down her makeshift tent, dug a small dip into the ground, and laid out her tarp.

Grabbing a piece of the snake meat, she chewed and contemplated her fire, sitting under the merged branches of the trees.

The blaze danced for her.

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_Journal Entry – Day 17 – Night_

_It snowed today. I'm okay, although my legs hurt. My coat drops almost to my knees, but I've been waking up with some mild cramping in my calves. At first I figured it was lack of potassium or something. I think it's the cold from laying on the ground. Today was particularly bad._

_I got my wish for water. Snow's not all that reliable, though._

_I've still got a few good pieces of snake meat left, so I'm doing good on that end. I'm still eating at least one MRE each day. And now I've got water._

_I think I may have overdone it on the wood, though. The wind picked up in the afternoon, and the extremely high pile pretty much blew down on top of me. I cut my hand, but not bad._

_I've been staring at the fire for awhile, off and on. It's pretty constant now – every time I look into the blaze, I see a memory or a feeling. _

_Right after the sun set, I saw these little girls whispering. I remember them so well, even if I don't remember the home. I knew what they were saying. Right on the heels of that, I saw the first boy I ever slept with talking to his friends and laughing. They were whispering about me. I was seventeen, awkward, and now ashamed._

_Then I thought of him. I remembered walking in among our co-workers. Most stopped to watch, some to point, some to whisper. I felt a little embarrassed, primarily out of habit. Overall, I just felt happy. _

_Unlike the image of being hit yesterday, those whispering girls and laughing boys didn't disappear. Instead, they merged, joined by others who pointed and made fun of me._

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The snow stopped in the middle of the night, giving way to a beautiful star-filled sky, and leaving behind three solid inches of dense white snow.

As the sun rose over the desert, she ate the last of her snake meat, and contemplated how best to melt her snow, then decided her best course of action was to pull the tarp closer to the heat of her fire and let it melt from there.

"Crap, it's freezing," she muttered, huddled under her branches, the fire stoked well, smoke from some of the wet wood pouring out into the air.

Pulling her jacket closer, she shivered, the heat of the fire not yet reaching into her.

Once the heat of the fire began its magic on the snow, she started catching run off into the empty bottles she still carried, and managed to fill seven of them, then drink at least two bottles full straight off the tarp.

"Too bad it's so damn cold," she sighed into the still air. "I could really use to wash again."

That task done, she opted to at least scrub her face and rinse out her hair, leaning in to dry it with the heat of the late morning sun and the fire.

While her hair dried, she ate. She was proud of herself for remembering to.

Pulling out her journal, she wrote.

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_Journal Entry – Day 18 – Mid-morning_

_I've got more water. Hallelujah. I was down to half a bottle and getting a little worried. I don't have a lot, though. I just hope I don't have to have snow to get it again. Although… as cold as it is, at least the snow didn't end up soaking me through like the rain. Being soaked and this cold would just suck._

_The fire is getting pretty huge. The snow didn't put it out, but partially because I tended it through the worse, making sure the coals stayed stirred. That's one thing I'm pretty sure I never imagined in my wildest dreams having to do – stay up to tend coals so I didn't freeze to death._

_I heard the coyotes again last night, but they were farther off than before. They sounded almost sad. I don't think I told him about the coyote that wanted to eat me. At least, that's the impression I had from the coyote the night I was under the car._

_I thought about walking down to the bottom of the hill, but the snow around me is already starting to melt, and I don't want to get caught in the runoff. I think I'll settle for my little peninsula._

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"What the hell _is_ it with this you?" she asked the fire as she watched herself getting beaten with a belt.

Turning away, she stood and walked over to where water smoothly streamed downhill, and managed to capture a couple more bottles of the precious liquid before the heaviest of the runoff turned to a muddy drizzle.

Crossing the narrow waterway, she stood out on the peak and peered across the landscape. Everything had a tint of white to it, making it an almost angelic landscape.

The sun was high as she sat down in the lotus position, and promptly fell asleep.

When she woke a little later, she made her way back to camp, and built up the flames once again.

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_Journal Entry – Day 18 – Late Afternoon_

_I'm not sure how weather is supposed to work, but it just snowed, and it's now kind of warm. Of course, it's all relative, but it feels warm enough to take the heavy coat off and wear only the leather jacket._

_I've been sitting outside of the shade of the trees, watching the fire, making sure it doesn't go out. I watched again as he struck out in a wisp of a flame, and I watched her retreat into her own version of invisibility. I remembered how I hated when she became invisible, because I became the target. After all, one person to smack around is the same as the next._

_How could I have ever thought it was normal?_

_I watched a flame burst up, and I saw my first crush. I don't even remember his name anymore, but when he smiled, I felt giddy. I think I was in ninth grade. He was in foster care, too. I don't remember which, but one of us moved. I never saw him again._

_I saw a woman in the flames, and she was baking cookies. That was one of the good ones. Not because of the cookies, though. When my math club won districts, she was there to cheer me on. She actually liked me._

_There were so many more images of faces I remember that have gone in and out of my life. After awhile, the images began to blur. _

_If we are a product of our environment, then what are people like me?_

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"What _are_ people like me?" she whispered. "I wish I knew."

Sighing, she pulled out some bark and began to chew, thoughtfully.

The moon lit up the white of the desert as the sun sank lower, casting an almost eerie glow on everything.

She stirred the embers once again, laid on several logs to stoke the flames, and climbed into her tent.

That night, she dreamed of beatings, followed by laughter, and woke shaking feeling ashamed and alone. Laying her head down, she let the tears fall in silence until her eyes closed and exhaustion claimed her.


	5. Days 19 and 20

A/N – Please R&R. Thanks to those who have been giving me such great input. You have no idea how much I appreciate it. It's the reason I've continued to write it.

Disclaimer: Don't ask, don't tell.

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Standing out on her peninsula, she resumed the lotus position, gazed out onto the desert, and slowly let her eyes drift closed. The exhaustion took her for awhile, and she startled herself awake when she felt a cramp in her neck and shoulders. She'd fallen asleep.

Making her way to the fire, she lay out in front and pulled out her journal.

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_Journal Entry – Day 19 – Morning_

_It looks to be another crystal clear day today. I'm almost out of wood, so that's the first order of business. Next, I need to go through my reserves and see just how much food I've got left._

_My dreams can be so vivid sometimes, it's painful. I saw him standing over me, after she shrank away and hid from him. He's got his belt in his hand, and I stood, placing my hands against the wall. The feel of the leather against my back brought tears to my eyes._

_The first time he'd beaten me, it was because I wouldn't eat. I had been sick. He had apologized, begging my forgiveness. This time, he didn't bother apologizing. He knew I wouldn't have believed him anyway. After all, it was a typical day in our house, and it was all my fault._

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The wood had turned to blazing embers, licking the air subtly, but remaining low and ready. She tossed on a couple small pieces of wood, and watched sparks begin to dance into flame.

Staring into the shadows, she ate.

Eventually, she turned her attention to her surroundings, fondly recognizing the shape of the sand, and the familiar scent of wet wood, burned coals, and fresh clean air.

Frowning, she looked up, then sighed in resignation.

"I might be in for another storm," she said, as the cool breeze suddenly burst into gusts of strong, bitter wind.

Pulling her coat around her, she staked in her tarp, and then placed some logs around the base to add strength. The wind was whipping the tarp around pretty well.

With preparations complete, she assumed the lotus position in front of the fire, closed her eyes, and slept.

The first flakes of snow woke her.

"Crap," she muttered, throwing several logs onto the flame and looking out along the horizon.

Moving back a couple of feet, protected more by the merged branches of the Joshua trees, she opened her journal and wrote.

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_Journal Entry – Day 19 – Afternoon, I think_

_It's snowing again. Hit when I was least expecting it. At least now, I'll recognize the smell before the bitter winds and icy stuff hits. I'm prepared, though. I also managed to get some sleep. Who would have thought a yoga position I've seen dozens of times on the front of books would be the best sleeping position in the world for me._

_I've been watching the flames a lot, lately. I feel like my life is in them. I just wish I understood what I was supposed to be seeing. How can old memories possibly be helping? I'm tired of seeing myself and her bloody and bruised. I felt my arm break again. I don't get it._

_This place has become a comfort to me. I am starting to recognize my place in the trees and the ground. I think of what has been offered to me here. It's so untouched… unexplainably peaceful._

_When I started this journey, I didn't want to think or feel. I was scared of myself. I think I always have been. Then again, I don't look into the future here. I am here right now. This moment and those that brought me here are all I can see. For now, it's all I can think about._

_I still think about him, though. I miss him. With every breath and every step, I wonder if he's okay._

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When she looked back up into the dim light, noticing the dark settling in, she ate again, and pulled out a small piece of bark to chew on.

"I think I prefer you frozen and tasteless," she said to the wood.

Re-stoking her fire, the flame rising, she watched the flames dance and leap once again.

At least an hour passed, before she pulled out her journal. For the first time, there was excitement in her as she wrote.

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_Journal Entry – Day 19 – Late Night_

_I watched the fire burn low and added a few more logs. The snow is getting pretty heavy. I wouldn't be surprised if I got over a foot tonight. I had to shake off my tent earlier, and I'll probably have to do it again tonight. The wind is the worse part. I've already got a three foot snow drift running up the side of my tent. However, I knew what to do._

_He and I watched a show one night about surviving in the arctic. It talked about how ice can be a protector against the elements. So, I took all the snow off of one side of the tent, reinforced the stakes on the other, and worked on building a snow wall over the tarp._

_The fire is about five feet from the tent. It sits barely under the edge of the branches. It wouldn't do to burn down the trees under which I'm currently living. However, it's close enough that I am sitting here now, just a couple feet away, between my tent and the fire, all warm and cozy._

_My days are the same. Even in a storm, so are my nights. I think I needed this. I find myself seeing me for me. I know it sounds strange, and maybe it is, but I am seeing myself for the first time._

_I've spent my life alone, surrounding only by my memories, but always at the center of a life I never wanted in the first place. I think at first, I was wanted. After that, I was nothing more than a beating post. As my life progressed, I hid inside myself, because at least there, no one would see the worst of my demons. And I do have demons._

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She spent the night in the lotus position, snugly comforted between her fire and her tent, which kept down the wind. Waking occasionally, she tossed a log on the fire or stirred the embers.

As morning broke, she made her way through over a foot of snow, out onto the peninsula, making sure to jump over where she knew the gully existed.

"Wow… it's beautiful," she whispered, awed by the purity of the landscape around her.

Under her shelter, she re-stoked the fire, and went about her daily chores, which now took her a matter of minutes instead of hours.

"Glad I stockpiled so much wood under here," she murmured.

Going through the backpack, she realized she had only a few bottles of water left, but decided to try and fill them slowly with snow instead of taking down the tarp again. She filled all the empty bottles as best she could, tightened down the caps, and put them near the fire to slowly melt. During the day, she repeated the process.

Around noon, the sun began to blaze down, heating the earth, and making the gully roar to life with the rapid melt-off of so much snow. The dip into the earth between her camp and the peninsula became wider and deeper.

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_Journal Entry – Day 20 – Noon_

_I think I like yoga. It's the best sleep I've ever gotten._

_I've begun seeing patterns in the shadows. Once I recognized them, they recognized me, as well. I remember how every shadows that whispered and pointed merged. Slowly, the echoes of the beatings and cowering and the anger at myself and them has merged. The constant moving and uncertainty of tomorrow has merged._

_It's become so much clearer. I can see the patterns, and from the patterns, I know what to do. I know what I have to do._

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As she sat, relaxed, half-asleep in the lotus position once again, Sara heard the gentle hum. Never opening her eyes, she grabbed a branch, poked at the fire, and laid it in.

Sara heard the engine, the slam of the doors, but didn't acknowledge either. As far as she was concerned, she was alone. No one could disturb that now. Something deep in her wouldn't permit it, even when she recognized the voices.

They walked up the edge of the gully to where they saw smoke, and stopped short at the sight of her.

"My God," he said in his Texas drawl. "Sara?"

She didn't acknowledge him. Instead, she opened her eyes and peered at the fire before her.

"Just sit down, Nick," he said. That voice made her heart skip a beat, before she re-focused herself on the task at hand.

Picking her journal, she wrote.

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_Journal Entry – Day 20 – Afternoon_

_I see a path in front of me. I see a path behind me. In this, I have a choice. The thing is, there's a deep shadow between me and the path in front. The shadow is black and terrifying. He knows I'm terrified of the dark. He's watched me pull out a flashlight so I won't even have to cross our bedroom in the dark._

_So I'm staring at the shadow, figuring out how to make my move. I already know what needs to be done, but I dread it with everything I am. It means I'll have to face my greatest fear – I'll have to really see myself._

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With a sigh, Sara placed her journal back on the ground and closed her eyes.

When she heard him cough, she'd had enough.

"For God's sake, if you feel you need to be here, at least be silent about it."

Standing, she rolled her shoulders, stretched her muscles, and made her way over to the peninsula. Sitting back down, she laid her hands on her knees, and watched the desert become still, as it prepared for night. She closed her eyes and fell asleep.


	6. Lost

A/N – I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Sort of. I don't have a clue how it's going to end, although I think I have a general direction.

Disclaimer: Whatever.

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Nearly an hour had passed since she had sat down on the peninsula. The two intruders had sat as still as possible, making little noise. Finally, realizing her breathing had leveled, becoming deep, Grissom put a hand on Nick's shoulder and pointed at the SUV at the bottom of the hill.

The two of them made their way to the car and shut the doors with only a faint click.

"So… she looks like hell," Nick murmured.

For several minutes, they watched Sara on top of the hill.

The afternoon sun was fading, but they could see her face clearly.

"Are we going to interrupt her talking here?" Nick whispered.

"She's asleep," Grissom replied, recognizing the breathing patterns in her. While she may not have slept much or even well, when she did, she always slept to a particular rhythm.

"What's she doing here, Griss?" Nick asked, looking at the older man.

"I just wish I knew," came the reply.

Turning to Nick, Grissom said, "Look. You don't need to stay. Just let me get the blankets out of the back of the car."

Shaking his head, he said, "No way. If I leave either of you out here, a few people would kill me. There's well over a foot of snow on the ground, there are drifts _feet_ deep, and you aren't wearing any real winter gear. I'm staying."

"Nick," Grissom protested.

"No can do, boss," Nick replied, then suddenly grinned. "Hey, we know where Sara is."

Sighing, Grissom leaned his head back against the headrest, and murmured, "I wish I knew why."

The two watched Sara until the sun went down and she seemed to blend into the hillside.

Later, Sara stood up and realized it was totally dark outside. Looking up into the cloudless sky, she drudged through the slushy remnants of snow and made her way over the gully to her camp.

She was surprised at how easily she moved around her campsite, with only the faintest moonlight to illuminate the dark. Even more surprisingly, as dark as it was, she felt… comfortable.

Then she sighed when she realized they were still there, sitting in the dark.

Pulling out her lighter, she grabbed some tinder she kept dry just inside the tent, and laid it out in her fire pit. It took almost no time to start the fire, and pile it high with fresh fuel.

Grabbing her backpack, she reached in for an MRE. In the process, she took a quick count, and realized she only had three left.

"I can live without tonight," she murmured, and tossed the one back in and grabbed a piece of wood to gnaw on.

The other two looked at each other and frowned.

Looking into the flame, Sara became mesmerized by a memory in the flames. Breaking her gaze, she grabbed her journal. Before her nerve left her, she pulled a topic from the flame, and wrote.

This time, she didn't make a journal entry.

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_How do you know where you belong?_

_I once had a roommate at Berkley tell me she was just where she belonged. I smiled and acted like I knew what she was talking about. She was so happy when she said it. I had a boyfriend once tell me the military was where he belonged. Again, I was just confused. If I wanted to be honest, it did make me a bit sad, and maybe jealous._

_I think I always wanted to be one of those people. It would have been nice to know where I belonged. Instead, I seemed stuck in this perpetual cycle. The first time I ever owned more than two suitcases, four boxes, and a computer was when I moved to Vegas. Even then, it took me almost two years to actually buy furniture. I splurged._

_I remember just how insane it was to buy my furniture. I didn't have a clue what I was doing, and I'm pretty sure I made the salesman's day. I bought a real bed. I couldn't sleep on it for the longest time. I was used to sleeping on the floor._

_I slept on a floor at home, before everything happened. I usually slept under my bed. It was about the safest place in the house, because nine times out of ten if he was to the point of trying to find me under there, he was so tanked he'd pass out. Of course, the one out of ten usually ended up in the hospital room._

_Everyone whispered. I was the girl whose mother killed her father. I was the strange girl who slept on the floor. I was the girl who slept under her bed. By the time I got out of Dodge, I was just the weird girl. No one noticed that I slept on the floor… for weird people that must be normal._

_When I moved to Vegas, it was different. The place was different. The people here are different. Very individual, but still important to each other. I think I was originally intrigued by it all. After that… I just couldn't really leave. I was too drawn, and in many ways comfortable. I have a home here._

_I know it's where I belong._

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Sara set her journal down next to the fire and placed a rock over it to keep the breeze from flapping the pages. Climbing into her tent, she lay out on her stomach and closed her eyes, eventually sleeping, exhausted.

When she sighed softly, he knew she was asleep, and Grissom picked up her journal. He began to read.

Nick watched, as his supervisor's face shifted from abstract horror to shock to dazed.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Grissom replied. "If you're staying here, maybe you ought to read this, too."

When she woke shortly after dawn, she exited her tent and walked out to the peninsula.

Wrapping her coat closer around her, Sara watched her breath frost out from her mouth, sat, and lay back, staring up into the sky.

"I never noticed how blue it is," she murmured to herself.

Standing up, walked back over to her camp. She would have ignored them entirely if one of them had not changed. Shivering silently, the blond stared at the ground, trying not to move or make a noise – apparently she'd been warned.

Smirking, Sara set about setting her dead coals. With an efficiency born of her experiences so far, flames leapt in no time, and the blaze was set.

She set her gaze on the fire, and stared into its depths.

Her first science fair had been a disaster. Apparently, being the anti-social recluse had set her reputation early on at this school. Sure, her teachers liked her. She always studied. She watched as one of her teachers very cautiously kneeled down in front of her, as she sat silently. Someone had destroyed her miniature electric dam. It had taken her four months to build it.

Sara remembered that incident very well. All she could think was 'why me?' and then answer quickly to herself 'of course me… who else'.

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_When do we get a break?_

_I always wondered at that. Near as I can tell, nothing is ever easy. It's all so… random. My philosophy professor in college and I once got into a debate over this. She once said we made our breaks. I argued the chaos theory. In the end, we both got a headache._

_Over the years, I've tried to look at the breaks we get in life, but I haven't been able to find them. When does the five year old, whose parents are strung up on heroin, ever get a break? I can say from experience it's not going to happen._

_More than once, I've wanted to look at these kids we see go in and out and say, 'Well, you better suck it up now, or life's gonna suck for you.' I don't, of course. Instead, I try to give them a little hope. _

_Since I've moved to Vegas, though… part of me changed. Maybe it was getting away from where my memories were so strong. I don't know anymore. I see a kid now, and I wonder what they're capable of becoming. _

_There was a girl a few years ago. She was so much like me. Sarcastic. Withdrawn. Her head in a book. Brass was in questioning her foster mom. Maybe I'll explain it to him one day. If you really want to know, look in the eyes of the kids. This kid was cynical. But she seemed something close to content. It was a good home. Her eyes told me that._

_Only he knows that I'd followed up with the foster mom. I felt a little stupid asking about her, seeing as I'm nothing to that kid. The foster mom told me she'd been moved to a permanent home. An adoptive home. The last time the foster mom had talked to her, she'd been laughing and smiling – she was happy. The kid caught a break._

_It all seems so… random. I shouldn't have made it out of under the car alive. The fact that I think that crazy bitch hadn't taken the softness of the sand into account was a break. If the rain had been just a bit lighter, I wouldn't have been able to shift. The fact that the water had becoming something akin to a river was a break._

_Moving here was a break. I've spent a lot of my time standing on the outside, looking in. That hasn't changed much, but every now and again I've felt… included. It's nice, knowing that my team likes to just hang out every now and again. Maybe in that I got a break._

_When we started seeing each other, neither one of us had a clue. I think we were each just trying to work the other out of our system. I never thought that tendril of a connection from years before would become so much – so vital. It never occurred to me that I was capable of loving someone so much I ache with it. I definitely got a break._

_In the flame, I saw my teacher talk to me about my vandalized science project. I still talk to that teacher today. He saw in me a potential for learning that few others ever had, and recommended me for a more challenging education._

_We get breaks all the time. I think maybe I just never recognized it._

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Laying her journal next to the opening of her tent, she peered up into the clear blue sky and realized she was roasting.

"Oh, for God's sake. Decide already! Hot or cold. Make up your mind," she yelled at the sun.

Peeling off her heavy coat, she stood, grabbed a couple more logs, and threw them on the fire. Sara grabbed an MRE, peeled it open, and ate.

After washing it down with half a bottle of water, she sauntered over to the jutted peak, assumed her cross-legged position, and closed her eyes in the mid-morning sun.

When he was sure she was asleep, Grissom quietly reached over and picked up her journal to read the latest entry, before handing it to Catherine. He didn't watch her reaction. He'd seen Nick's the night before. He'd been… horrified at how she'd had to live her life.

They had driven back into Vegas after she'd crawled into her tent. Grissom needed to get some winter gear. Catherine had insisted on returning with him, threatening to follow him if he tried to leave her behind.

When Catherine placed the journal back on the ground, her hand was trembling.

Several hours passed before Sara stood, stretched languidly, and started back to camp. They still hadn't moved, at least that she knew of. Both of them just sat there, not looking at her.

Sighing, she broke the silence.

"I don't have much food left, but there's still a couple MREs if you're hungry."

"No thanks," he whispered. "You need them."

Nodding once, she went back and poked at her fire. The only thing left in her fire pit was ashes. She'd been sleeping longer, and the fire kept going out. Looking at her woodpile, she realized she needed to gather more. By the time she was done, it was afternoon.

Sitting down in front of the blaze, she searched the flames again. They seemed to search her, as well, because one flashed out, melted with several others, and became overwhelmingly bright.

There were so many images, blurting out all at once, they scared her. She closed her eyes against the onslaught.

Picking up her journal, she wrote.

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_Why am I so afraid to be seen?_

_He told me it was my fault. If I'd been quieter. If I'd hadn't broken something. If I hadn't fixed something. If I'd been different. If. If. If. She stabbed him to death. The whispers followed. I was glad. I shouldn't have been glad. Especially since life got worse after that. The whispers followed through all my foster homes. People looked at me strangely._

_When I was fourteen, the man came into my room. I told the social worker what had happened, and I was moved, but I'd heard them whispering that I'd made it up. Who would make up something like that?_

_After that, I pulled inside myself. I spoke when I had to. I never explained or expected anything more than necessary. I wanted nothing more than to disappear, with the curling of anger burning in me like an ever-present ember._

_I wonder if he thinks I'm embarrassed or ashamed of our relationship. I haven't been able to explain. _

_I hold the things I care about close and quiet. I always have. I've always needed to. I'm terrified to really be seen. It's not that I really want to hold back, but I feel like I have to. So many times, I've started to care about someone, only to have them leave when I talked about my life. No one really wants to know that someone like me exists._

_People walk around, trying to make their life as close to a fairytale as possible. I've spent my life feeling ashamed – for being the one responsible for all the damage to my parents, for being the one who couldn't keep her foster father off her, for being the one who was whispered about._

_I've talked to Gil, though. He knows my whole sordid past. He once told me that while the age difference worried him a little, the fact that in some ways I was older than him probably balanced it out. I'd been crying, having woken from a particularly vicious nightmare. Leave it to him to use sarcasm to make me laugh._

_Since coming here and working with this team, I've worked to be a little more open. I've had a bunch of little successes along the way. In all my years, I've never met a group of more accepting people. They might be occasionally judgmental, but in the end they back you up. I've kicked back with a few beers or talked about our current messy lives. I've always held back._

_I think I know why I didn't want anyone to know about our relationship now. Of everyone I've ever known, this small band of people means more than any other in my life. I was afraid they'd see me for what I often feel like – an imposter._

_I'm afraid to be seen because in the end, I don't know me at all._

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Laying down her journal, tears streaming down her face, she climbed into her tent and sobbed.

Catherine watched the reaction on Grissom's face as he forced himself to sit still and silent, while he ached to at least try to soothe her.

The sobs faded, and Sara fell into a fitful sleep.

Once again, he picked up the journal and read the entry before passing it to Catherine.


	7. Found

Sara flipped over onto her back and stared at the dark underside of her tent. Echoes of pre-dawn light shadows cast a haze, so she could see the edges of her blue tarp.

"Time to move," she whispered.

When she emerged from her makeshift home, she noticed that four of them sat there.

"You're breeding like rabbits," she muttered to them as she passed by and walked out to her peninsula. Removing her thick coat and laying it out carefully, she began to stretch, starting with her neck and shoulders and moving to her back and waist.

When every kink was worked out, she looked out across the horizon. Putting her coat back on, she sat down and waited for the sun to burn the sky with color. She never watched the sunrise, though. She always watched the opposite horizon. The colors that emerged were utterly amazing – the deepest, most vivid she'd ever seen.

With the sun casting up over the horizon, she finally went back to camp and began the process of building her fire.

With flames leaping, she grabbed her journal and sat staring at the fire, until the heat of the day and the blaze made it unbearable to wear the heavy coat, and she removed it.

In the fire she found her memories – her classmates, all with dreams of the future, heading onward to better and better things – a friend, preparing for her wedding.

Picking up her journal, she wrote.

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_Where do I want to be in the future?_

_That's always been a nebulous question to me. I've never really been offered a choice in the matter. In high school, I wanted to go to college. That's as far as I ever got. The other kids around me would dream of going to school, getting married, starting their careers, having a family… beginning a life. I didn't so much dream as pray I'd get that scholarship. It was that or get kicked to the curb._

_When I was younger, I was bounced from place to place, and never by choice. I would be in a good home for awhile, only to find myself yanked away and shoved someplace else. Nobody asked me if I wanted to move, I was just moved. Nobody asked me if I wanted to stay, though, either._

_My future has generally consisted of waiting for the other shoe to fall. If I have ever looked too far forward, something has happened. _

_I got a lot of comments from my teachers and my peers when I got a full ride to Harvard. They were all excited. I really wanted to go to Berkley. I didn't want to move across the country. I didn't have much of a choice, though. The teachers who had rallied behind me and half-pushed me into applying for Harvard and the scholarship were so proud. I didn't want to disappoint them._

_When I moved here, I rarely looked beyond the moment – terrified I'd do something to screw it up. The night I got pulled over for the DUI, I felt like a complete moron, because I had actually started seeing myself here. I'd started seeing a future in this town, and on the team. In general, I was accepted. I truly believed I'd blown it. Again. Like every other time, something had happened. I was surprised Ecklie and Grissom let me stay._

_Then I started seeing a future in him – us – in the last year or so. What had started out as no more than an affair had tilted and gave way to something so much more. We worked hard to keep us and the lab separate for a variety of reasons. We argued sometimes. Both of us can be so damn stubborn. But even through it all, I could see my future._

_I started dreaming about a life with him. When he asked me to marry him, I could see it happening. I could see ten years down the road. I could see growing old with him, holding hands, letting go, and joining again in some nebulous place in another place and time. I was given a glimpse of forever, and it took my breath away._

_The other shoe fell. I fell apart. The future became a blur. Wisps of shadowed ghosts intermingle in the future, obscuring it. Until I get through them, I won't be able to move forward._

_So, I'm back to where do I want to be down the road. I have a glimmer of an idea. I hope he does, too._

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Sara tossed her journal down next to the fire, grabbed her coat, and started walking down the edge of the gully. Scurrying around the two cars, she shook her head and continued walking. Looking back, she could see the peak, and walked around to the other side of it.

She remembered sliding, then falling down that hill. The pain in her shoulder and arm had been so unbearably intense, she wasn't sure how she stood up and continued on.

Approaching the sandy hillside, she began to climb, then slide, and climb some more, until she reached the halfway point, and sat down on a rock in the sand.

Staring out over the landscape, she sighed. Everything lay silent before her in the mid-morning sun, and she could almost _feel_ the light streaking down across the life that lay still across the horizon. Laying back, she simply watched the sun, as it rose into the sky.

As soon as she had made the descent and she was out of sight, Grissom had picked up the journal, read through the entries, and passed it over to Nick and Catherine. They eventually passed it on to Warrick.

Without speaking, they put it back, lay back into the shadows, and waited.

Sara made her way back to camp for lunch. Her first order of business was to stir the existing coals and add a couple of logs.

Pulling out her last MRE, she ripped it open and ate.

As she watched the fire grow and wane, throughout the day, she saw images of herself throughout her life. They'd grow and merge, always being licked by shadow. She watched herself grow from scared child to insecure woman. The shadows always seemed to follow her.

That night, she slept cross-legged out on her peninsula, as the bitter cold wrapped itself around her.

In the morning, she walked back to her camp. There were six of them now.

Shaking her head, she passed them, muttering, "Anyone left in the lab?"

Stoking her fire, she grabbed her journal. She had a question to answer. It was the question she'd started this quest with, and the one she sought and feared desperately.

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_Who am I?_

_In the flames, I saw myself. I come from them – my parents. My mother would cower, my father would beat. My mother killed him. The fire turned blood red, and I saw her coated in it._

_I saw the defenseless child become the lonely child. I was strange. I couldn't help it. Nobody ever gave me a chance to be any different. I felt humiliated and so very much alone. _

_Then I saw the defenseless child become a resigned teenager. I'd never recognized that in myself, until I watched it spark in front of me. I remember as a teenager, I was awkward. It's hard to answer questions from friends about why I couldn't drive or why I lived with foster parents. The worst was the pitying looks they'd give me when I told them. So I stopped telling them. I stopped having friends. They wouldn't remember me in a year anyway._

_Living in Boston, I had been given a chance to explore. I was no longer in the system. I was on my own. But somewhere along the way, I'd forgotten how to relate to people. I was so awkward that first year. My second year became easier, because I learned to mimic the people around me._

_In those years, I grew from resigned teenager to party girl. I maintained my GPA, but it became about having fun, too. It was all a mask I wore. I never talked about my past or my future. I lived only in the moment and for the moment. I was fake. I got really good at imitating those around me. I dated. I slept with a few guys. In the end, they never saw the real me._

_I went back to California, and I watched myself turn into this insecure young woman. In class, I knew my stuff. Out of class, I knew nothing. I didn't date much. I spent my free time studying harder than I ever had before. One day at the grocery store, someone hit on me. I stuttered and stammered. I'd left the fake me back in Boston, and I didn't have a clue how to react. I felt… stupid._

_When I interned in the coroner's office, I started feeling useful. After that, I became a CSI. I had a title. At least that was a step in the right direction. Full of insecurities, I'm sure I drove my mentor completely nuts with my questions. He was patient, though, and walked me through everything. By the time I was two years into the position, I felt confident in my job. The next time someone asked me out, I smiled and said yes. But I was still only in the moment._

_The first time I felt bold enough to really talk to someone was at a conference. I saw these amazingly blue eyes and cute grin. He asked me to stay after, because I had a ton of questions and time was up. We talked. I asked him to have dinner with me. I'd never done that before. He was an interesting person, and I felt comfortable. It was a strange sensation, as the only time I ever felt comfortable was alone. There was a connection there, but we didn't take it past friendship until almost seven years later._

_Over the next couple of years, we became friends. He would send me articles on material sciences in forensics, and I'd send him case notes for interesting bug cases. We always had an amicable relationship. So, when he called and asked me to do him a favor, it wasn't a problem. I was actually looking forward to seeing my friend again. So I went to Vegas._

_When he asked me to stay, I was so enamored with the way the lab was run and camaraderie I saw there, I said yes. If I'm being honest, I probably also said yes so that maybe we could reconnect with him. It was actually kind of fun to do the job in Vegas. The cases were interesting. I should have known it wouldn't be all rosy, because I ended up having to start everything all over. I wasn't established here. I had been in San Francisco. I felt myself slide right back into the part of insecure woman._

_Over time, I've established some friendships, but never really let anyone in to see who I am. It's a little hard, when you can't answer that question for yourself. So I hold everyone at arm's length. It's not that I don't have faith in them. Part of me has learned to trust, but the other part screams that if I open my mouth I'll be alone again. I've had friends before who wouldn't come near me once they knew where I came from._

_The only person who really knows me is Gil. He's heard the horror stories, and seen the scars. There are a lot of them – inside and out. He can't heal them, though. I know that bothers him – that he can't fix what's wrong. There's nothing he can do. I know he wanted me to talk to him these last few weeks. I couldn't. I'd lost all my words, and was fading._

_When we're together, my insecurities fade. They'd begun to fade, in general, and I'd truly begun to feel comfortable in my own skin. The insecurities pop up every now and again, and I ask him to just hold me or talk to me. When I have a nightmare, he reads me poetry, because it soothes me, and him._

_It always seemed to be enough, until lately. Lately, I've been so tired. I've been everything all at once. In my dreams, the darkness drowned me out, leaving me surrounded by my ghosts._

_But they're not really ghosts at all, are they?_

_I've spent my entire life surrounded by haunting memories._

_When I left, I wondered if I could be a monster. I think we all have the ability to hurt. I think everyone in this world has the ability to destroy. I guess in that, I'm no different. My mother was no different. My father was no different. _

_The difference is in how we define ourselves. I'm tired of being nothing more than a title. I'm not Child X, living in House Y. I'm not Student A, living in Dorm B. I'm sure as hell not just a CSI. I have had it with being defined this way._

_I had a hellish childhood. I grew up in a system that sucks. I was never given a damn thing. I earned everything I have. No one has the right to tell me different. I'm not the monster my parents turned out to be. They could have made different choices. I've made different choices. I know I'm vulnerable and weak at times. I know I get angry. Sometimes it's justified, and sometimes it's not. I'll always have memories flame up on me, and there's nothing I can do about that. It's NOT my fault._

_So I'm back to the question._

_Who am I? I'm Sara. I matter._

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She looked into the flames in time to see the deep shadows flicker, and dim, receding to the edges. Turning, she looked at the group sitting on the edge of camp, and stared. Gil, Greg, and Nick sat huddled together, while Catherine, Warrick, and Jim sat huddled together.

Grissom, Nick, and Greg looked up at her as she contemplated them.

"Are you okay?" Gil asked.

"I think so," she replied. "I don't know if I'll ever be… normal, though. You might want to reconsider jumping into the deep end head first."

"I have no doubts," he replied, the sincerity evident in his eyes.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Nick asked.

"You guys read my journal, didn't you?" she accused, avoiding his question.

Blushing profusely, Greg responded. "Yeah."

"It wasn't meant for you," she whispered. Reaching into the journal, she pulled out the pages with the last question. Walking over to Grissom, she handed the entry to him and said, "Hold onto this. There may be a time I need to read it again."

"Do you mind if we…" Catherine started to asked, indicating the pages in Grissom's hand.

With a sigh, Sara said, "You've read everything else. Apparently my life is now an open book."

Turning back to the fire, with a half laugh, she picked up the journal, and threw it onto the coals, and stirred, until the pages caught fire.

While it burned, Sara took down the tarp and packed it into her backpack. Occasionally, she turned back and stirred the embers and stoked the coals with air. Fire licked the binding, scorching. She used a stick to flip the pages open and watch them burst into flame.

She picked up any signs of life around the camp, carefully packing it all in her backpack.

When the last pages had burned to nothing but ash, she took one of her two remaining water bottles and drowned out the coals, sending searing smoke thick into the air.

"Where are you going?" Greg finally asked.

"Home," was her only reply.

She started the hike down the steep sandy slope, gently sliding, but anticipating her footing. When she got to the bottom, she turned around to look, and saw nearly her entire team following her. She heard car doors slam, and engines start.

"It's a long hike," she warned, frowning.

"I'll be behind you the entire time," he responded.

"I'd rather you were beside me," she whispered on a sigh, and he grinned.

Catherine and Brass drove past, explaining that they'd wait by the road.

The rest of the crew kept Sara's pace, stopping every once in awhile, as she recognized something in the landscape.

They weren't far from the highway when Sara stopped and turned.

"This is where you found me, isn't it?" she asked Nick.

"Yeah," he replied, a lump forming when he added, "I couldn't get a pulse."

"I felt water," she stated.

Looking at the four men walking beside her, she frowned when she said, "I was so ticked off that I got _that_ close to the road and collapsed. After nearly drowning, I nearly died from dehydration. Go figure."

As they left the spot, something felt lighter – more forgiving.

"Just remember to read that to me, Gil," she said, as they approached the road.

Once there, Catherine and Brass jumped out and grinned.

"Congratulations, Sara. You made it," Brass said.

Her team had lined up against the cars, all grinning. Tears sprung to her eyes, and she didn't bother wiping them away, but let them pool and fall – making streaks through the dirt that coated her face.

"Could someone give me a ride? I really want three showers, a bath, and something edible. I'm starving and I smell."

When the laughter died down, he held her hand, and she smiled the first true smile he'd seen in a long time.

"Let's go home."

**Fini**

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A/N - I want to thank everyone who reviewed this story. I truly appreciate the feedback. It's been an interesting journey for me to write. I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading. Feel free to review.


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